


Group Projects

by Greenfynch



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Bible, Bliss (Far Cry), Chemical warfare, Christianity, Cults, Drugs, F/F, Overdosing, PTSD, Past Abuse, Project at Eden's Gate, Religion, Torture, Violence, mature language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenfynch/pseuds/Greenfynch
Summary: It's been a month since Project at Eden's Gate has turned Hope County into a waking nightmare. Deputy Elizabeth Drummund is still recovering from the effects of Jacob Seed's mind-altering "psychotherapy treatment", but Eden's Gate isn't going to just sit around and wait for her to return. The world turns without her. She has to find her partner, Patrol Officer Allan McAllistar, and help the people of Hope County survive this endless torment. After all, they were the ones who caused all of this, weren't they?





	Group Projects

How long has it been since we started this whole mess? I splash water on my face - my hands gripping the sides of this dirty, broken sink - and look into the mirror. I watch as my hands reach up and gingerly touch the bags under my eyes. It sure as hell feels like years. A groan escapes my lips as I pull my hair back and my fingers begin configuring it into its usual loose braid. The light above begins to flicker, and I cannot keep my eyes from rolling. I thought Dutch fucking figured out the wiring to this place already. I’d told him to fix it more times than I care to recall. I straighten my back and leave the small bathroom.  


“Sorry, Deputy,” calls out the familiar gruff voice, “I’m tryin’ to fix it, but I aint no electrician.” When I round the corner I see Dutch at the breaker, his brows pulled together and his lips pursed. “Maybe we should call someone else in. Ya know, someone who knows what they’re doin’.” He took a step back, placing a hand on his chin like an artist stepping back to reveal the grand design of their magnum opus.  


It wasn’t a bad idea, but I wasn’t supposed to leave the bunker. When Dutch turned to see my face, he must have noticed my apprehension. “I’m sure it’s fine, Deputy. You’ve been here a week now with no problems whatsoever,” his tone was reassuring, but his eyes searched mine, “Maybe Jacob’s voodoo isn’t as potent as Barnes thinks?”  


He does his best to ease my fears, but my hands begin to shake of their own accord. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t know what I’ve done. My fingers tighten into fists in a vain attempt to stop the shaking. I focus. I focus on the feeling of blood rushing into my fingertips, the sensation of the prickles against the surface of my hand. I zero in on my own breathing to calm it. The screams and shouts echoing in my head slowly die down to a soft ringing in my ears. I can feel my elevated heart rate slow, remembering where I am - remembering when I am.  


I’m pulled from my thoughts when a hand lands squarely on my shoulder. He must have felt me tense, because he clears his throat. “Look. I don’t know what happened to you out there, but we need you back at your old shtick again. The people of Hope County need you, Deputy, “ his eyes are persistent in meeting mine, “I don’t know how long those people can hold out. All the time, I’m gettin’ calls in askin’ about you. Askin’ for aid. Hell, prayin’.”  


My stomach tightens in the familiar knot of guilt. Right. People need me. This is what I signed up for. This is what I signed everyone up for. ‘There was always a choice.’ My jaw sets and I look up at Dutch, doing my best to look determined.  
“That’s damned right!” he grinned and patted my shoulder, giving it a hearty shake before letting me go, “Now, you got a friend who’s real good with this electronics shit, right? Maybe you could escort him to this here island to give us a hand. Think of it as a - preliminary mission! If you can do this without goin’ crazy, I’ll consider you field ready!”  


I nod, giving a weak smile. I can almost see guilt behind Dutch’s eyes, but it's gone before I can really discern it. 

=============

I pull tight the lace on my boots, methodically wrapping each lace through the other, making sure the knots would be there no matter the circumstance. My backpack feels unusually heavy against my back. I hear Dutch approach behind me, his boots heavy on the concrete floor of the bunker. “Don’t forget. You’re lookin’ for Larry Parker over in Holland Valley. That’s John’s territory so… At least it’s not Jacob?” Was that supposed to be comforting? There was a long pause before I heard him speak again. “If you need any help, Deputy, radio me, alright?”  


Now that - that was comforting. Dutch never left his god forsaken bunker or this island, for that matter. I stand, pull up the straps of my backpack, and shake my head. “I’ll look for Allan. He’ll help,” Dutch looks shocked. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve spoken, despite the brevity. Dutch is the only piece of this county that keeps the communication going between the survivors. He’s their only line of communication. If something were to happen to Dutch, the resistance would suffer a fatal blow.  
“Alright,” he says, “Just make sure that idiot stays in line. Neither of you can help if you’re both in the dirt.”  


Without another word, I begin my ascent up the ladder, turning the latch, and hefting up the heavy lead door of the bunker. The light is blinding at first. My eyes blink to alleviate the burning and the tears that threaten to rise. The sounds of Whitetail Valley wilderness fill my ears: birds, the scurrying of rodents, the rushing of the Henbane River all around the island - sounds all but drowned by the several feet of dirt that covered the bunker. I’d almost forgotten how quiet it was down there. The sounds brought me a sense of comfort. My posture relaxes and my steps lack the hesitation of moments ago.  


Larry Parker, in Holland Valley.


End file.
